


Under the Stars

by gimmefire



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Apocalypse, F1 Summer Slash 2015, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4641642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"</i>Ciao.<i> Your services, please. Nothing special. And all night, if you'll have me." He doesn't know why he says that, really; it's an icebreaker of sorts, perhaps. He offers a fleeting half smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm Rob."</i></p><p>Rob is alone and wandering in an unfamiliar, damaged world, continuing to live simply because he does. One night in Italy sparks within him memories and emotions long since faded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Stars

_You're a ghost at most_  
_A set of empty bones_  
_Searching for anything and everything_  
_To make you feel whole_  
_When it gets cold_

\- PVRIS, "Holy"

 

He's been moving for a long time. Keep moving, keep occupied, keep the mind focused, don't let the shadows in. There's a yawning, pitch blackness in the recesses of his mind; post traumatic stress broke who he was into shards, sharp and deadly, leaving vast chasms open to let the darkness through. He's seen such things in plenty of others over the years. If you're not taken by injuries that won't heal or a thug after something, _anything_ of value then you can be damn sure the black dog will wait for you instead.

Rob? He's trying to stay alive now out of instinct rather than desire. He smokes more now than he ever did. There's an irony in that but he's not the sort of wanker to point it out to himself.

Maybe there's a black dog in the skies as well. They're black and starless once night comes and slate grey during the day, like a thunderstorm that threatens to break but never does. It feels as though they're always slate grey these days; it used to remind him of winter in England in a grimly wistful sort of way, but he hasn't been home in years and he doesn't like to think about what it might have become.

Felipe always reminded him of summer.

He keeps moving.

It wasn't as though he hadn't been to most countries across Europe in that distant, former life of his, but now he's seen them beyond identikit hotels and weary journeys to and from racetracks. There is little that is recognisable remaining of what you see in glossy guidebook photos. He remembers wishing for this sort of time in his busy schedule to really sightsee, and his laughter is bitter enough to choke on.

One night, when he is somewhere in Italy in the stifling humidity of what used to be summer, he finds himself down a narrow, twisting back alley, bartering for cigarettes and hoping he might find some remnants of good Italian coffee somewhere. He also looks out for a brothel to spent the evening in.

Prostitution is legal because there are few governments and police forces equipped to deal with anything beyond the slow collapse of society, and widespread because it has value as people seek fleeting happiness. Rob has long since gotten past the embarrassment and shame of it all and sees it for what it is, if you go to the right places - a service on offer that he gladly accepts, and nothing more. Or he sees it that way most of the time.

He's shifting the backpack on his aching shoulders and thinking he may even spend the whole night in a decent brothel, if the mood strikes him.

Something else strikes him in the end. A sight that almost makes his knees buckle.

Petite, Latin American - Rob doesn't care to have him narrow it down more than that - his skin is olive, his body subtly toned beneath a dark blue muscle shirt and white shorts, hair a mess of dark waves, and he has a heart-stoppingly familiar habit of sucking on his bottom lip. Rob is drawn to him, drawn by long-faded hope and memories, a moth to an inferno. It's only when their gazes meet that Rob sees his eyes...not big enough, not brown enough.

" _Ciao bello,_ " he greets, looking Rob over with interest.

" _Ciao._ " Rob keeps the disappointment out of his tone. "Your services, please. Nothing special. And all night, if you'll have me." He doesn't know why he says that, really; it's an icebreaker of sorts, perhaps.

The young man chuckles and lifts an eyebrow. "Depends what you have for me, _bello._ "

Rob sidles a little closer, lowering his voice amongst the other workers. "Eight packs of twenty Marlboro. Sealed. Proper stuff." The young man's eyes light up. Valuable currency. Rob offers a fleeting half smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm Rob."

He leads Rob away with a gentle hand, fingers intertwined, around a few corners to a dead end. Rob's heart races briefly and his free hand brushes the penknife in his pocket, more than ready to defend himself and his hard-won goods. But nobody follows them and the young man pulls a makeshift gate made out of wooden pallets closed behind them, while Rob's attention is taken by the decor. Spread out haphazardly before him are dusty, blanket-draped mattresses covering the floors and propped against the walls, and pitched above it all like an awning is a dark blue, almost black, sheet. It's a bohemian nook, but with the scent of sex in the air instead of patchouli. And a slightly rusty floor fan resting on its side.

"Show me the Marlboro," the young man nods to his backpack. Rob obliges, shouldering off the bag with a grunt and unzipping a hidden compartment. Eight packs, all sealed, like he said; the kind of things he'd normally keep for himself. Rob nods at the stationary floor fan. "And I'll try and fix your fan."

The young man chuckles in near disbelief - he's being offered a lot, and he appears to know it without saying so - and claps him on the shoulder. "Man, if you are a good fuck too, this will be a great day!" He takes out a couple of packs of Marlboro and turns them over in his hands, eyeing him. "This will be your first time?"

Rob smiles thinly. "No, no…" he casts his eyes over the other man, then looks away. "It's different tonight. _You're_ different."

The young man hums curiously. He pauses, perhaps waiting for Rob to elaborate, then lifts his hand to graze Rob's bristled chin. "Different in the good way, I hope!"

Rob doesn't respond, but the touch is electric to him, so he lets instinct take over and bends his head for what turns out to be a pathetically chaste kiss. The young man smiles into it. Rob wonders if it's out of pity.

He's led closer to the mattresses and beckoned inside, so he sets his backpack down within arms reach at the foot of the fort, crouching to crawl inside. Once he's settled back onto his elbows, the dark sheet above his head catches his eye; it's decorated with hundreds of white dots and spatters of white spray paint. It takes a moment for it to click. " _Oh…_ "

The young man grins, peeling off his baggy muscle shirt in the most provocative way possible. "I think is nice always to do it under the stars, no?"

Rob cracks a wryly amused smile, looking around him. "Only the best in the deluxe suite, eh kidda…"

"Only the best!" The young man echoes proudly. He's so like Felipe in that moment - hell, Rob was expecting his exclamation to be punctuated by a _for sure_ or a _you know?_ \- that the breath catches in Rob's throat when he's fixed by hazel, not brown, eyes. A second of true escapism from his reality gone in a heartbeat. Rob looks away, a pang squeezing his chest. Maybe this was a bad idea.

"So, Rob…" the soft, shy lilt to the young man's voice draws Rob's gaze back to the fore, where he stands with his back to him. His belt loose around his hips, he allows his shorts to slowly ease downwards, revealing tight, white briefs underneath. "What do you think of my ass?" he arches his back a little, looking coquettishly over his shoulder. "Do you like it?"

Rob exhales slowly, rather thankful for the reminder of what he came here for in the first place. He hums in assent, letting himself be drawn into the show, rubbing a hand over his crotch. "Nice," he murmurs. "Would like to see more of it."

"Mmm," the young man hums lasciviously, hitching his shorts down further so the perfect curve of his ass is on display. He bends forward and arches, dropping his shorts to the dusty ground and running his hands over his briefs-covered asscheeks. "I can't wait for you to take me and fuck my nice ass, I'm getting hard only thinking about it…"

Beginning to feel heat stir in the pit of his stomach, Rob continues to rub himself through his trousers. Yeah, this is what he's really here for. A good fuck. Blow all the other shit away for a while. _All_ of it. "Let me see all of you."

The young man obliges with a breathy moan, slipping fingertips behind the waistband of his briefs and sliding them downwards, slowly unveiling his bare ass like a prize. He continues to bend, showing off his flexibility by pushing his underwear down to his ankles, wrapping his fingers around them while he's down there.

"Mmm, feels so good...don't you want to just bend me in two, fuck me so deep and hard…" He reaches up and back to spread his asscheeks and give Rob a perfect view of his puckered hole, running a fingertip around the ring of muscle and whimpering. "I can feel your cock in me, feels so good, Rob, _so good_ \--"

Rob lets his head roll back and moans low in his throat. He remembers summer nights with Felipe when their sex became so intense, the Brazilian would slip back into his native tongue without realising and Rob wouldn't fully understand what he was being encouraged to do. How Felipe would laugh, starry eyed and embarrassed afterwards, and Rob would kiss away his blushes.

Rob clenches his jaw and swallows, opening his eyes to find the young man stepping delicately into the nook, unpinning another sheet as he goes and allowing it to unfurl, hanging down across the entrance to their hideaway behind him - a little extra privacy. He sucks on his bottom lip and smiles. "You pay too much to do this by yourself, _bello._ "

He pulls Rob's legs apart and kneels between them, nimble fingers unbuckling his belt and freeing his swelling cock from opened trousers, which he takes into his mouth and draws wet, supple lips along, tongue lapping the slit. It's a tease, a slow build to get Rob fully hard, before he's working the base with one hand and moaning around Rob's length.

"Oh, _ohh, Feli--_ " Rob's breath hitches and he catches the word in his throat, swallowing it away. He scrubs his hand over his face, then pushes it into the young man's hair, lifting his hips to fuck his mouth with a gruff noise of determined pleasure. His cock is swallowed down, throat muscles constricting around it with practiced ease.

When Rob comes, he bites down on his fist hard enough to bruise to keep himself from calling out Felipe's name.

Once Rob is spent and boneless, the young man sits back, wiping his mouth on the heel of his hand and admiring his work. He then reaches behind one of the propped up mattresses to his side and pulls out a half empty plastic bottle of dark liquid, which he swigs from and grimaces after he swallows. "Is not personal, of course," the young man assures when Rob looks at him. "Some guys don't like the taste of their own come, so..."

Rob merely nods, more lost in swirling thought than processing the answer, but he frowns slightly at the bottle. The young man waves him away. "Is very bad wine, so bad. I am ashamed to be here in this country with wine so bad, I tell you."

Rob sits up on one elbow and holds out his hand wordlessly, and with some reluctance, the young man passes it to him - bad wine might be bad wine, but it's far from cheap anymore. Nevertheless, Rob takes a small mouthful, screwing his face up when the taste hits the back of his tongue. "Fucking hell!" He swallows to get rid of it and coughs harshly, the young man's _I tell you!_ ringing in his ears as he hands the bottle back, swearing again and even laughing once he's finished damn near choking on the terrible wine. "It tastes like fucking lighter fluid!"

The young man echoes his laugh, shaking his head when Rob shudders involuntarily. "I tell you! Is only for this purpose."

"Men prefer _that_ to the taste of come? Fucking insane!" Rob laughs again, wiping pained tears from his eyes. The young man smiles at him, thumbing away some dampness on his flushed cheek.

"Is good for you to smile," he says gently. "Your eyes, they are so…" he gestures vaguely. "They are _better_ when you smile, you know?"

_You know?_

Rob feels like his heart missed a beat. His smile disappears gradually, and he doesn't have it in him to stop it. He nods weakly, looking into hazel eyes. "I know."

Fatigue washing over him, he breaks away from the young man's gaze and lies back with a soft groan, pushing a hand through his hair and looking up at all the not-stars. He hears the young man sigh softly, and the sound of the cap being screwed back onto the wine bottle.

"So do you usually fuck bears?" the young man asks; it's a blunt question, but his delivery is gentle, cautious. He stretches his naked body out next to Rob, curling a finger into his beard. It's a little too long now, but there's nobody around to make Rob care enough to trim it. He waits until he has Rob's full attention before he smiles again and raises an eyebrow. "You want a beautiful twink like me for something different, right?"

"N-no, it's not that--" Rob blinks, feeling his throat ache suddenly. He rolls onto his side to face the young man. With his olive skin, dark hair, gorgeous smile... "You're different because you...remind me of someone I know. I knew." He corrects himself like muscle memory these days; you'd think by now he'd be using past tense. He presses his lips together and wills away the ache in his throat with little success.

The young man stares at him, a fresh clarity in those hazel eyes, that playful smile abruptly eroding. No elaboration is needed. He shifts closer and lays a sympathetic hand on Rob's arm, rubbing his thumb over freckled skin. "Is good to keep the memories strong, no?"

Rob has no answer for that, because he doesn't know. Memories are all he has now. Save for the stirrings brought on by this evening's chance encounter, all they've done is inexorably fade. Perhaps one day they'd be gone, and perhaps they'd take the grief and hurt with them, or maybe that's just the subconscious, vain hope that he'd somehow wake up and leave this whole horrible nightmare behind. But he honestly doesn't know what he wants anymore. He absently slides a hand up the young man's thigh and notices a small tattoo on his hip. He covers it with his thumb.

They sit in silence for a few moments, Rob staring blankly at his thumb, imagining taking it away and finding nothing beneath it. A hand slips around the back of Rob's neck and pulls him in to press their foreheads together. The young man asks in a soft murmur, "What is my name, _bello_?"

It takes Rob what feels like minutes to answer. His mind stutters, stupidly almost offering _I don't know_ because, well, he _doesn't_ , but then, with the young man's fingers trailing soothingly through his hair, his thoughts are suddenly bright with wonderful memories and images so vivid and so fucking intangible that his fingers tighten on the young man's hip without him realising. Memories of tanned skin, dark hair, a gorgeous smile and big brown eyes.

"...Felipe." He says. His voice cracks.

 _Felipe_ kisses him tenderly, and he squeezes his eyes tightly shut.


End file.
